Dreaming of Stars
by Mars and Kitkat
Summary: A recollection of child Lovino's nights dealing with his fear of a drunk Antonio and his friends. Written to portray the darker side of the nation's pasts being underlings to other countries. Caretaker!Spain, Drunk!Spain, Chibimano, One-shot


**Name: Dreaming of Stars  
Rating: T  
Warnings: Language, violence**

This was a requested by a friend, so it's a not-so-serious short story. Enjoy! 

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The stars were dripping with a breath-taking ivory light, and reflected perfectly off a pair of brown, round, big eyes starting at their beauty with a child-like curiosity. The moon reflected their shape, as its orange tint took over a big section of the sky and added to the pure beauty of a perfect night as now.

There was a calming silence surrounding the single household stuck upon a hill, only broken by the blending chorus of the song of the crickets that hid in the tall grass, and the hum of the frogs resting in the cool wake of the pond. Along its banks roamed various insects, feasting on the stalks of wild tomato plants and the petals of purple daisies.

Inside the walls of the warm household was a young boy. He pushed and pulled the broom in his hands along a dust-coated floor, fumbling with all his might not to drop the heavy object that was much too big for his small frame. He wasn't very big, especially for being the human age of six, but he had always been assigned some of the hardest tasks of the house. His chubby fingers wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, which he then spread across his apron. The large amounts of clothing snugging his body from head-to-toe in layers of fabric only added to his difficulty with movement. It took him many tries, but he finally succeeded in removing a great deal of dirt and grime from the wooden planks under him into a messy pile he could simply brush under the carpet.

A stifling choke left his mouth when he took a gander back over the remaining ground, realizing he'd only covered a small area. Hell, he'd have a heck of a time trying to get his chores done in the allotted 6 hours he'd been given. This was only his first task on the list.

The small Italian boy, Lovino, felt his the hairs on his neck stand on end as soon as he began to move. He froze, keeping his lungs in tow as not to let out a peep as he listened. His ears perked to the sound of heavy foot-steps and deep chuckling. The brunette felt his heart begin to race in fear, and soon he had hidden the broom under a near-by couch and took off towards the direction of the stairs, just in time for a group of tall, burly men to come crashing into the house, falling over each other and scrambling to be inside first. One of them leaned against an end-table while tears dripped down his face from his heavy laughing. It sent it crashing, with him on top, as shards of glass went flying in each direction with a loud crack. The other two men lifted him, disregarding the blood pouring from his nose and forehead as nothing more than a battle wound. Lovino refused to look back.

The brunette one of the group, with a deep tan and dark eyes, picked his way through the cluttered room to the kitchen first, followed by the bleeding Albino other blonde companion. He tore apart the cupboards, throwing boxes of dried fruits and harvested tomatoes onto the counters and floor. Finally he found what he was going for. A pitcher of beer. With a loud cheer he let it clatter onto his counter, the contents of it dripping and flicking, and fished for bowls to use as a way to dish it out.

"Toni, 'ay think yous need 'ta hurry it up with that booze!" Gilbert complained with a clear slur emphasising random words in his sentences. "'m feelin' a little sober!" With that, he laughed with a wide grin and held out his bowl expectantly. Francis did the same, eyelids drooping dangerously to show his clear level of intoxication.

"Hold yerself, 'm gettin' it!" He muttered back, and continued looking for clean object to dish the alcohol in. "'Ey, Lovino! Where the hell did you put my bowls?!"

Antonio's heavy footsteps led him to the living room, where he found his henchman was missing. "Bastard, you'd better get yer ass out here! Where'd you put my bowls?!"

The second Lovino had made it to his room, he'd practically begged to be thrown into his covers, curling himself in the dark space they gave. His baby hands scratched and tore to blanket his ears, eyes scrunching as tight as he could make them. Softly, he hummed to himself, pushing out the fear and terrifying thoughts that haunted him of his past experiences with his drunk care-taker. Their booming voices pierced his skull, their rumaging and kicking and yelling only making it all the worse. He gently shook, trying to curl into himself and plead the other didn't come seeking him as usual. Scars littered his arms and chest and back from the beatings he'd taken from the idiots. Sometimes it'd even just be for fun, instead of anger-driven. Sick tools...

Footsteps shook the whole house, and hearing them, the small boy curled tighter and said a silent prayer to Mother Mary for protection from whatever was to come.

Antonio had found the stairs. Lovino crumpled within himself, unable to breathe. All he could listen to was the overwhelming sound of his heart beat. He wished he could stop it. It was so loud, he swore the other would find him just because of that.

The grown man began to throw open the doors, tearing everything out of dressers and beds and everything else he could get his hands on. His fury was immense.

"I found 'em!" Francis declared proudly from somewhere in the house. At this point, the previous roaring of the steel-toed boots paused, and with great hesitance, headed back down where they came. Down the stairs, through the living room, and faded away into the heart of the kitchen as the French and Spanish and German accents began getting louder and more excited as they were supplied with more alcohol. It was hard to understand what was being said, but clear, violent undertones were fed into their words, and his name was mentioned many times.

Lovino relaxed his muscles, breathing heavily from the anxiousness that had existed in him just moments ago, and let himself be carried off to a different land. One where he could sit outside and listen to the frogs and crickets harmonize without the hate of a drunken Spaniard lashing at him. One where he lived with those beautiful stars he watched every night.


End file.
